Falling into Normal Cycles
by feelsinthetardis
Summary: Sherlock and John slowly adjust to a normal life. Well, as normal as a life could be with Sherlock Holmes in it.


Sherlock lay, bleeding on the ground. For a while, he didn't think of anything. _'Just like you expected. Alone, shot by a criminal, transport finally giving up. All alone.' _He was cruel to himself when he was injured. Suddenly, he thought of something that could save him. Something brilliant. Something perfect. Someone perfect.  
"John." He whispered, not able to say much else. He reached for his phone and dialled John's number.  
"John."  
"Sherlock, are you okay?" Sherlock smiled. John, wonderful John, who always puts others before himself. The last person he would ever talk to would be John. And he was perfectly fine with that.  
"I-I'm dying, John."  
"Sherlock, what? Where are you!"  
"Corner of Williams Street."  
"I'm coming, Sherlock. That's just around the corner, I'll be there in a minute." He could hear John's footsteps now.  
"John." He managed to choke out. He couldn't think about anything except the fact that his eyelids were starting to get unbearably heavy and he wouldn't be able to keep them open much longer. John dialled for an ambulance and screamed desperately down the line.  
"Sherlock. You have to hang on. They'll be here in five minutes. Just five minutes. Come on, mate. Just five more goddamn minutes. It won't be long. Please!" Sherlock swallowed  
"John, I-"  
"No, Sherlock. Don't say anything. Just focus on breathing, alright? In and out. And keep your eyes open. Don't you dare let them close for more than a second. I'll never forgive you. Keep your eyes fixed on me, Sherlock." Sherlock could see tears forming in his eyes.  
"John. I can't hold on. But-"  
"No. Don't say that. Don't you dare-"  
"John, I need to tell you. I think I feel the overly used, common sentiment towards you."  
"What?"  
"You know what I mean. I had to tell you. Before I die."  
"Sherlock, you're not going to die."  
"I love you, John." He smiled and John slowly kissed Sherlock with trembling lips  
"I love you too, Sherlock. But that's the ambulance now. You can't give up. Can't you hear it? One more minute, Sherlock. Just one more minute! Don't close your eyes! Please, Sherlock!" John was begging now. He couldn't give up. Couldn't give up. John needed him.

The medics lifted Sherlock onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. They bandaged him up, and the whole time, John was hating himself for not being there with him. For not killing the person who had the goddamn nerve to shoot at Sherlock.  
"No one, Sherlock. No one's ever going to hurt you. Never again. I won't let them." He held Sherlock's hand, while they bandaged him up. Sherlock kept his eyes wide open, on John, the whole time.

They just reached the hospital when Sherlock's eyes betrayed him, and slid shut. His lungs betrayed him, and stopped breathing. His heart betrayed him, and stopped beating. His hand betrayed him, and let go of John's. As he slipped away, he could hear a frantic John screaming his name, but he had already used up all his strength trying to stay awake for so long.

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed with everything in him. The sound that was ripped out of him barely sounded human. Because he wasn't human anymore. Not without Sherlock. Someone forced him to wait in a chair, while they rushed Sherlock to an emergency operating room. Someone had forced him to wait, helpless and idle, while Sherlock could be dying in there. Every part of him was screaming. Screaming _'Sherlock!'._

_He met John at school one day. He was new to the suburb. His family had to move because his father had kept the house after the divorce and his mother wanted a clean start. They had every class together. They began best friends and almost immediately progressed into a dating relationship. They kept this all throughout high school and college. John never went to Afghanistan. He never acquired his scar. They solved crimes together. There was never a Moriarty. They got married. John became John Hamish Watson-Holmes. No one ever got hurt. There were risks, but those risks brought them closer. They ended up adopting a child. Sherlock doubted he would ever care for it as much as he cared for John. He was wrong. He loved their son. He loved the sound of it. Their son. Hamish Sherlock Watson-Holmes. Sherlock had insisted on the first name, as John had insisted on the middle name. They were both on the same side when it came to the last name. Watson-Holmes. Watson-Holmes meant friends, colleagues, flatmates, arguers, lovers and ultimately, partners. Watson-Holmes meant family. Sherlock lived this life out in a month. One month in a coma. Only one month. One month of hell for Dr. John Watson._

John sat by Sherlock's bed every day and every night. Held his hand when he simply couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. Kissed his lips in apology when he woke up. Begged for response at midnight. In the early few days, Molly visited a few times, only to break down and leave in a hurried mess of excuses. Lestrade still visited, he still came around and brought new cases he was stumped on. He read aloud the descriptions, hoping that Sherlock might just correct him. Hell, he would even take an insult at this point. Mrs Hudson only came to make sure John was still alive. She'd known Sherlock for too long to be able to look at him like this. John just stayed there. Waiting, hoping, praying, bargaining.

_Sherlock celebrated birthdays and christmases. He gave and received presents. Hamish decided that he would get him a different scarf for every birthday and christmas. They were different colours and materials and Hamish would put one around Sherlock's neck every morning to wake him up before school. He felt a little to old for it once he reached eleven years old, but John said that it made Sherlock happy. Hamish wanted his parents to be happy. He was that sort of boy. Nothing felt right if not everyone was happy. On Sherlock's 31st birthday he woke up and he was in a hospital room and John Watson was holding his hand._


End file.
